Fire and Ice
by Jinzle
Summary: It is February. It is cold. Bergman sets out to visit his four month old son, who he hasn't seen yet. Spirits are high, but Dresden is no place to be in the winter.
1. Chapter 1

I Mean Seriously?

The frost on the ground made a harsh crunching sound as Leutnant Paul Bergman stomped heavily through the compound. His mood had been gradually darkening since the birth of his son, Erich, in October. Now it was February, and he still hadn't gotten the promised leave to see his son. Bergman was aware that the Kommandant's staff were almost nonexistent due to so many transfers needed to shore up defensive positions. He also knew that he was lucky to still be at Stalag XIII, and not on the front lines. But Verflixt, he wanted to go home. Dresden was so faraway, and it had been a year since he had seen his beautiful wife, Hedda. Each day he waited here seemed to be an eternity.

It didn't help that there were rumors the Russians were quickly approaching the city. In her most recent letter, Hedda had mentioned the Allies had dropped pamphlets stating they were going to bomb the city if they did not stop stockpiling military supplies. She had been assured that it was just propaganda and the Allies would never bomb them. Still Bergman was nervous and he had gone to the Kommandant with his concerns. To his credit, Klink tried to find out information from his superiors, but his inquires were not answered. Bergman half seriously considered taking part in the next escape attempt.

His belly growled in hunger. If it were spring or summer, he would attempt to boil up some grass, just to sedate for a time his obnoxious internal organs. "Well this is great," he thought bitterly. Now he was worried if Hedda and Erich were getting enough to eat. And it is so cold. Were they warm? "I hate this place," he thought as he kicked a nearby trash can in frustration.

"Are you ok sir?", a cherry voice behind him inquired.

Bergman spun around with the intention of verbally ripping the speaker to shreds, only to be confronted by the smiling face of Obergefreiter Karl Langenscheidt. When met with such sincerity of spirit, one had no choice but to smile too.'

"Yes..yes, I am fine...danke. Just a little home sick."

The Obergefreiter nodded sagely. "It is a feeling I think we are all very familiar with. But it must be hard not being able to see your little one. Maybe today is your lucky day."

"Maybe, but I wouldn't count on it," Bergman sighed.

Langenscheidt saluted Bergman and returned to his patrol of the compound. Bergman smiled at the retreating figure before a slight frown crossed his face. In the middle of the compound and in view of the guards and prisoners, Bergman stood befuddled as to where he had been going. He tried to remember, but it was a blank, and now he had been standing there long enough to start to draw attention to himself. His cheeks began to burn with embarrassment. He looked quickly around trying to come up with something that would take him away from all the attention he was drawing, when he spotted Colonel Hogan. He quickly began to march towards him.

"Colonel Hogan, your men were slovenly and unshaven at roll call this morning," he said coming to a stop in front of the American.

"And? That's every morning Lieutenant," Hogan sighed inattentively.

"Tomorrow I expect them to present themselves as the airmen that they purport to be."

"Noted."

"Good, then we understand each other."

Bergman turned, and took two steps towards the kitchens, when Hogan interjected, "The Kommandantur".

"What?" he said, turning back to the POW.

"The Kommandantur. That is where you were going before you lost your train of thought. The Big Cheese wants you for something."

"And how would you know that?"

"Because you get that crease between the eyes every time Ol' Blood and Guts summons you to his office," Hogan replied with a trace of a smirk.

"Verdammte Kriegies," he grumbled under his breath, only to hear Hogan chuckling behind him.

A\N:

(1) Leutnant Bergman is an established canonical character referenced, but not seen, in "The Return of Bonacelli" and "A Russian is Coming". His first name is my own invention. He was first introduced in "Sometimes I Wish For the Russian Front".

(2) Before the bombing of Dresden, the citizens were warned of the impending bombing. The pamphlets read, "We know you are using Dresden which we have not bombed because it is a hospital area for the wounded but you are storing vital parts for airplanes and tanks and if you don't cease and desist, we will bomb you", per the memory of Jerry Lamb, a 19 year old POW at Dresden during the bombing.


	2. Chapter 2

And So It Begins

"You wanted to see me Kommadant?" Bergman asked entering Klink's office, and giving him a crisp salute.

Klink responded with a distracted salute, and returned his attention to the pile pf papers on his desk. "Yes I did," he replied, looking back up at the young man standing before him. "I know you've wanted to take leave for a long time now. With the Stalag being so short staffed, I was finding it difficult to justify giving you leave and not my other men. But I just received a call from General Holzklau. He has some prisoners from the American 106th Infantry Division which he needs transferred to Stalag XIII C."

"I do not understand, Herr Kommandant. Why would the Heer ask the Luftwaffe to transport prisoners, and what does it have to do with my request for leave?"

"Glad you asked," Klink said as he smiled at his junior officer. "It seems the good General is short handed due to the Russian advancement. His forces are tied up trying to hold the line. Per Article 19 of the Geneva Convention, when a combat is close to where prisoners are housed, they must be evacuated to a safe location." Rising to his feet and moving closer to Bergman, Klink continued. "Now I know General Holzklau will hold the line, and these precautions will prove to be unnecessary. But in the mean time, why not use it to our advantage?"

"I am still not following you, Oberst."

"Well my boy," Klink began while clapping his hands together in glee, "it seems the POWs in question were not in a Stalag, but in an Arbeitslager in Dresden."

Bergman's mouth dropped open, and he was momentarily stunned into silence. Then the dam burst and all his words came tumbling out together, almost becoming one long word. "They are evacuating prisoners? What about the civilians? What about my family?"

"You're over reacting. The city is in no danger. This is merely a precaution, nothing more."

"What about the pamphlets? The warnings about possible bombings?"

"I have been told they are all lies. Merely a propaganda tool for the desperate Allies. Dresden is a cultural center, not a military target. The Allies will leave it alone as we have left Oxford alone. Besides, you can go and assess the danger yourself. If you still feel uneasy, you can always arrange for them to be relocated to Hammelburg."

"Well, I suppose that would work," Bergman said thoughtfully.

"Good, then it is all arranged. There are five prisoners to be transported. The others will be transported to different Stalags by other means. They are not your concern. I will give you written instructions on who are to be transported, and where the pick up will be. They must be picked up on the fifteenth and delivered by the seventeenth."

"That does not give Hedda and me much time together, but I guess some time is better than no time."

"Good, I am glad that is settled," Klink replied happily. Sitting back down at his desk, Klink reviewed the paper in front of him before continuing. "I am going to send with you Gefreiter Weber and Obergefreiter Langenscheidt. That is really more men than I can spare, but I want to ensure everyone returns safely. Be ready to leave at 1800 hours. I will have Schultz alert Weber and Langenscheidt. He will also check out a truck for you to transport the prisoners in. Any questions?"

"No Herr Kommandant, and danke."

"Bitte Leutnant," Klink said while returning Bergman's salute.

Stepping outside the Kommandtur, Bergman felt himself smile. He wouldn't have a lot of time to spend with his family, but a man dying of thirst drinks happily whatever is given to him.

"Well this is something you don't see everyday. Somebody happy after seeing the Bald Eagle," Hogan said while looking up at Bergman from his position near the bottom of the step.

He smiled down at Hogan and descended the steps. "Waste your mischief somewhere else, Colonel. I am too happy to be bothered by you."

"Come on, what gives?" Hogan said as he fell in step with the younger man. "You've been walking around for months like death on toast, and now you're Herr Sunshine. Tell me. You can trust me."

"Ha! I can trust you about as far as I can pick you up and throw you." Hogan opened his mouth to object, but before he could, Bergman waved him off. "Save your lies and fancy dancing for Klink. I will tell you, it's not any secret. Myself, Weber and Langenscheidt are going to Dresden to pick up some prisoners, and while I am there I will be able to see my family. Sorry I had no military secrets to tell you. Good day Colonel," Bergman said as he veered off towards the officers quarters.

"Colonel, did I hear right? They're going to Dresden?" Hogan's second in command said as he approached his commanding officer.

"You heard right, Kinch," Hogan said, putting his hands in his jacket pockets, and staring after the young German.

"You can't let them go. Colonel, you know what will be waiting for them there. Bergman is just a kid. What twenty, twenty-one? And pretty decent guy, for a goon. The same goes for Langenscheidt. The men are really fond of him. They call him Mini Schultz."

"I know, but I can't jeopardize the mission. I can no more warn them, than I can the POWs that are housed there. There have to be sacrifices. Sometimes good men die for stupid reasons. No matter what people believe, or what we tell ourselves, we can't save everyone. We have our orders, and we'll follow them, no matter how much those orders may follow us after the war."

A/N

Arbeitslager is a sub labor camp, which could be adjacent to a farm or factory. Not to be confused with concentration sub camps which were called by the same name.


	3. Chapter 3

Langenscheidt

Karl Langenscheidt finished packing his ruck sack, and headed off to the armory to check out his rifle and ammunition. Schultz had surprised him by getting a supply of Iron Rations. Karl had no idea where his superior had obtained them, and was too hungry and grateful to inquire. He had a sneaking suspicion some **Wehrmacht** unit was going to be very hungry tonight. Sadly, they were only half portions, but it was better than what they usually had in camp. Karl smiled to himself. The prisoners were so proud of their scavenging skills, but they had nothing on the toy maker from Heidelberg.

Hearing the rumble of a truck, Karl turned towards the noise to see his rotund Oberfeldwebel bouncing in the driver's seat, headed straight for him. The truck came to a screeching halt only a few feet from Karl, sending a spray of frozen mud onto his overcoat and boots. He sighed with the constant frustrations enlisted men of all nationalities had to face.

Schultz lumbered from the cab and waved for Karl to follow him to the rear of vehicle. Throwing back the tarp, Schultz said, "Here are your supplies. They have to last you for the entire trip."

"If we are careful, it looks like there is enough for the three of us," Karl replied while taking mental inventory.

"Ja, but your picking up five men and will be transporting them at least two days. You're going to have to get creative with your supplies in order for them to last until you return."

"Creative? You mean strict rationing? "

"Well that is one way to do it, but I think Colonel Hogan calls what I am thinking of as a 'midnight requisition'."

"I don't know. I am not as clever as you, Schultz."

"Bah, when men under your care are hungry, you will do what you must."

"Maybe I will find a forgotten stockpile of food somewhere," replied a thoughtful Karl.

"Ja, on the back of some forgotten truck."

Both men looked at each other and then burst out laughing, glad for the release of tension. "Be careful out there Karl. The war has made good people desperate."

Don't worry about me Schultz. You have enough to worry about trying to keep the chaos Barracks two stirs up to a bare minimum," replied Karl.

"Isn't that the truth, Schultz replied, patting his chest as if the very thought gave him heartburn.

Climbing into the driver's seat, Karl started the engine and waved good-bye to his friend. He drove around to the front of the Kommandtur to where Weber stood waiting. Leaning out of the driver's side window he said, "Henry, I'll drive. You get in the back and guard the supplies. After awhile, we'll switch positions. The Leutnant is in a hurry, so I doubt we'll be doing much stopping, except to refuel."

"Alright Karl. Will the Leutnant be taking a turn driving?"

"Tisk, you know there are four things officers can't do right; drive, read a map, shoot, and make love."

Both men started laughing, but it was quickly cut short by the sound of Bergman's voice. "What's so funny?" he asked _good_ - _naturedly._

 _"_ _Oh nothing Sir," Karl said, jumping out of the truck, and picking up Bergman's bag. "_ _Just a joke I heard in town." Karl hurried to stow the gear, wanting to get far from the officer, and the trouble he almost made for himself._

 _Finishing his task, he helped Weber into the back of the truck, and then ran around the truck to open the door for the Leutnant. Hurrying around to the driver's side, he climbed in and started the truck. As Karl put the truck into gear, Bergman turned to him and said, "Do you know how to get to Dresden? I don't want us to get lost and end up behind enemy lines."_

 _Karl chuckled and replied, "I don't think we have to worry about that, Sir."_

 _"We might, since we are dependent upon your sense of direction and my map reading skills."_

 _Karl's heart dropped into the pit of his stomach, and he felt faint. Then he heard a soft chuckle from Bergman. "Officers excel at jokes. Ja?"_

 _"Ja," replied the_ _highly_ _embarrassed_ _Obergefreiter. As the gates closed behind them, Karl had a feeling that he had a very long drive ahead of him._

A/N:

Iron Rations were the German version of the American K-Rations, but lacked the extras the Americans had, like chocolate and cigarettes. Rations could be ordered in **_eiserne Portionen_** **or** ** _halb-eiserne Portionen_** **,** **full or half rations. Full Iron Rations consisted of 300 grams of hard crackers, 200 grams of canned meat, 150 grams of dehydrated/** **canned** **vegetables, or pea sausage, 25 grams of artificial substitute coffee, and 25 grams of salt. Half portions consisted of the canned meat and crackers only.**


	4. Chapter 4

Bergman

The huge truck rattled and shook as he drove on into the night. Karl squinted through the windshield, trying to see pass the falling snow. It had started as a few flurries, but now it was coming down pretty hard. The road was slick with a mixture of muddy slush and snow. The headlights reflecting off the snow wasn't helping, causing him to slow to almost a crawl. The inside of the cab was bitter cold, and Karl's hands felt frozen to the steering wheel. Even so, it was still was better than being in the back with Weber guarding the supplies.

The next refueling station was still fifteen miles away, and Karl was in a desperate need to de-fuel. He searched his brain to find a way to take his mind off his predicament, but found nothing. He thought about talking to the Leutnant, but one doesn't just strike up an idle conversation with an officer. Especially after embarrassing himself by making jokes within hearing distance of his commanding officer. Karl could still feel the tips of his ears burning just thinking about it.

"Any plans after the war?"

Karl jerked the wheel in surprise, almost running off the road before getting the truck under control.

"I think you will want to keep this thing between the ditches, Obergefreiter," Bergman said humorously.

"Ja, Leutnant," Karl replied _._

A bright light and the sound rustling papers, drew Karl's attention. Glancing over he saw Bergman with a map and a flashlight. The sudden luminescence hampered his already questionable driving skills.

"Do you think that is wise?" inquired a nervous Karl.

Clicking off the flashlight, Bergman sighed. "I guess your right, Langenscheidt. I am just anxious to get home."

"We are just outside of Plauen. That is the halfway point. There is a supply depot there, and we will stop for gas. With your permission, of course."

"I never second guess an enlisted man," Bergman chuckled.

"That is wise, Leutnant," laughed Karl.

The mirth settled back into silence as they drove.

"So Obergefreiter, do you have any plans after the war?" Bergman said in an attempt to restart the conversation.

"Two months before I was drafted, I had gotten a letter from the Heidelberg University. They were interested in my joining their teaching staff. The carrot was I would be able to continue my education, tuition free."

"And the stick?"

Karl was silent, struggling to find the right words. Unsure what he should say, or if he could trust the man sitting next to him. Finally the oppressive silence won out, and Karl continued. "The University was very pro-Sozi. Many teachers and students were turned out due to their ethic backgrounds. Two professors disappeared without a trace. Speculation at the time was of Sozi involvement. There have also been numerous book burnings, the lost is something we can never replace. Then there are the rumors of forced sterilization at the health clinics. The whole thing is repugnant to me. I could not in good conscience take the position, but I was afraid of offending the governing staff. Of disappearing into the night. It was almost a relief when I was drafted."

"I can imagine. Sometimes the military is the only refuge a person has," Bergman replied quietly.

"You had a similar experience?"

"Somewhat," Bergman replied. "I am the only child of Rainer and Sophie Bergman. When I was four, my parents died in a boating accident. I was raised by my maternal grandparents, Armin and Helen Fischer. My grandfather ran the famous Flussufer Porcelain Company. Their Dresden Lace is second to none. Even Meissen is envious. I was groomed from the day I entered their home to take over the company some day. I was given a first class education, and was required to learn all aspects of the company's operation. From sweeping the factory floor, to working with the Artisans, to contracts and distribution, I have done it all."

"Sounds like a promising future. Many would be envious."

"Yes, I suppose. But in order to do business, you have to belong to the Sozi party. You can't get a permit, license or any other business activity unless you were a member in good standing. We weren't even allowed to hire who we wanted. They all had to belong to the party. My grandfather said to go long with them. Just get along. Joining didn't mean anything, it was just the way of things."

"You did not agree?"

"No, the only safe place to escape to was the military. I said it was my duty as a German, and in part that is true. But deep down the reason was I was afraid of what I would become. My grandfather is a very powerful man, and he was able to secure a commission for me. It was his influence which got me stationed at Stalag XII, and not the front. So we are not that different, Langenscheidt. When all is said and done, we want the same things. A long and happy life.

Langenschiedt suddenly jerked the steering wheel to the right, sending the vehicle into the aforementioned ditch.

"Obergefreiter have you lost your mind?" cried out a visibly shaken Bergman.

"I am sorry Herr Leutnant," said Langenschiedt. "I thought I saw someone in the middle of the road."

Bergman turned on the flashlight and did a brief survey of the area before turning it off. In that brief time, both Langenscheidt and Bergman saw the faces of twenty families walking along the road carrying children, and what was left of their earthly possessions. "The displaced."

"Pardon Leutnant?" replied a confused and flustered Langenscheidt.

"Some are countrymen who have been expelled from their homes in neighboring countries. Others are trying to stay a head of the approaching battles. My wife Hedda, wrote to me about them. Dresden is overflowing. Many sleep in the streets and alleys because there isn't enough room."

"But it is night. Why are they still walking in the dark?"

"I don't know. Maybe after you've walked for so long, the only thing that keeps you going is the thought that sanctuary is just around the next bend."

Both men got out of the cab and inspected the front axle. Langenscheidt wiggled as far under the front of the truck as he could, with Bergman holding the flashlight so he could see if there was any damage. Weber joined them, only to be sternly sent back to his previous post.

Nothing seems to be broken, Herr Leutnant," Langenscheidt said as he crawled back out and stood up. "We just need to get it out of the ditch. I think we are going to need help."

"Yes, unfortunately all we have to barter is our rations."

"Maybe we can make a deal of some kind?"

Bergman looked over at the faces staring at him in the darkness. Seeing two likely candidates, Bergman cautiously approached. The man appeared strong and in his forties. The younger, was a boy about sixteen. Behind them was what appeared to be the mother and two younger sisters. "I do not have much to pay you with, but if you help us get the truck out of the ditch, I will give you three packs of rations. It is all I can spare, as I will soon have more men to feed."

The hunger played across their face as the younger girls waited for their papa's response. "Alright, it is not much, but it is more than we have had in the last three days." Relief flooded the girls' faces as the father and brother joined Bergman in pushing the truck, while Langenscheidt put it in reverse and slowly backed onto the road.

The family followed closely behind Bergman as he made his way to the back of the truck. "Throw me down five rations, Weber," he called into the cave like canvas opening.

"But you said you could only spare three," said the father, perplexed at this turn of events.

"I am on my way home to my wife, and if I know Hedda, she will send me back to Stalag XIII with a bunch of home cooked goodies. So I will not be eating so much. So I have some extra that I can let you have."

"Thank you, Herr Leutnant," the man said clasping Bergman's hand. "Thank you. Thank you." He took the food packets and the family disappeared into the snowy night.

"That was very kind," replied Langenscheidt. "Especially considering all the rationing and shortages. I doubt your wife has that much to spare."

"It's alright. I need to lose a few pounds anyway," Bergman said, smiling at the spot where the family had been.

A/N:

The University of Heidelberg was very pro-Nazi. People lost their positions, students were removed from classes, many were deported. It was also heavily involved with forced sterilizations were carried out at the women's clinic and the psychiatric clinic, then directed by Carl Schneider. The University fully supported the Action T4 Euthanasia program. All due to the Nazi stance of racial purity.

Meissen: Famous Dresden porcelain company that was established in 1708, and is still in production.

Sozi: An abbreviated term used by the native Germans during this period for the _Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei_ (National-Socialist German Workers' Party of Germany, aka Nazis.


End file.
